


Magnum Opus

by FuwaFuwaMedb



Category: Fate/EXTRA, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Other characters mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 17:47:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17750570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuwaFuwaMedb/pseuds/FuwaFuwaMedb
Summary: She came to the lounge bar to simply have a place to get lost in her artwork. Shamefully, her muse would figure out what she was doing.





	Magnum Opus

She wasn’t sure what had brought him into the place.  
  
It wasn’t the atmosphere. The man had taken one look around and dismissed the place with his nose going a bit higher into the air. His eyes had roamed over to the band, taking in the sounds as he ordered something from the bar. His companions, both of whom seemed more interested in the music and the women, had wandered out after getting their drinks, leaving the blond to simply move to a seat by himself and lean himself back.  
  
God of the domain.  
  
A flicker of sunlight in the midst of darkness.  
  
She couldn’t find the words and a part of her mind argued that she never would. How could someone describe someone that looked more comfortable with being alone and the center of attention than draped in women like his companions.  
  
As the two others he had been with laughed and mingled, the golden haired Adonis simply leaned himself back, running a hand through his hair and sipping at his wine.  
  
Her hand worked over the page in front of her. Drink abandoned, she focused on the way he looked sitting there by himself.  
  
He had a jawline that Nero would have called sharper than steel. The man’s face was sculpted from the finest of lines, created for someone to stare at for hours on end. A woman could lose herself running her hands along that jaw, pulling his face up to their own to draw his attention back. It would have driven Nero to madness, competing with someone like him.  
  
What’s more, his eyes.  
  
Eyes like those belonged hidden away, lest the room fall under their charm. He lowered them a little, looking down at the people. She could tell already that, should she find a way to be closer, she would end up feeling her heart palpitate. She would have had to fight to keep her stance.  
  
And if he was looking up at her for some reason, then she would be lost. Surely no one had been able to survive having to see those eyes, whatever color they were, looking up from beneath those stormy looking eyes.  
  
His hair did nothing to help the cause. If anything, that hair drooping over his face seemed to add character to him. When his hand would brush through it, it brought to mind a thousand other things. The man would have made boredom look sultry. He would have made shampoo companies a fortune. Oh, but the way he seemed to have his hair just gleam under the low lights of the jazz bar, she could already tell he was nothing less than fine quality. An executive or a celebrity.  
  
The only thing she knew for sure was that the man seemed to ooze the very essence of charm. He seemed to breathe pleasure from that very face of his.  
  
The man shifted in his seat though. Her muse of the night was unbuttoning his shirt a bit, the gold necklace around his neck showing just a bit more.  
  
Her eyes drifted away a moment as she locked eyes from across the room. There was no stopping her hand at work though. She needed to capture him on paper. No, need was such a weak word. There was an undying compulsion to keep him glorified in some medium. Her mind was not enough. She would forget him in time. Her mind would find new subjects and new settings. Her sensuous stranger would become a passing midnight fantasy if she didn’t do something.  
  
But he was looking her way again when she glanced back at him. She drank him in one last time, taking him in like a shotglass of whiskey before lowering her head to her work.  
  
He had been draped upon the chesterfield sofa like he was born to wealth. His jacket had been left open, showing off just a bit of the shirt beneath. The man had been well built, leaving little to the imagination in terms of his physical fitness. The lights had played off his necklace and the rim of his wine glass. It had played of the earrings in both his ears.  
  
Beautiful dark atmosphere. Unapologetically golden halos created by the various gold aesthetic of him.  
  
It was unfair to have someone like that in a place like this.  
  
Above all of their grasp, yet so unbearably close.  
  
Agonizingly beautiful, but unspokenly taken.  
  
The man had to be taken, after all.  
  
No one let something like that slip between their fingers. No, someone like him was one to walk away. They were someone of fine quality, requiring time and devotion. They required presence, admiration. They required someone whose interests were in line with their own.  
  
Of course, even as she drew one of his hands brushing back a lock of that golden hair, she knew for a fact that someone like this had a flaw somewhere.  
  
Nothing and no one was that perfect.  
  
With him drawn on the beautiful chesterfield couch across the lounge area, the words began to be carefully drawn into the background in the most elegant of script that she could bring forth.  
  
Sensuality.  
  
Refinement.  
  
Sin.  
  
Loneliness.  
  
Hakuno found herself pausing as the last word formed above the man in the picture.  
  
Looking over the golden-haired god, there was little doubt in her mind. The man looked… alone.  
  
There was nothing around him. No pleasure in what he was taking in that evening. No personal interest in the people or the music. They were there, but only as someone to fill a space. He was warming a seat while he friends took pleasure in the night. While they drank from the cup of life, he sat alone. The man simply sipped his wine and waited for it all to end. He could once more return to his domicile, hiding away from it all.  
  
What kind of beautiful man hid away in such a way?  
  
What pains hid away, she wondered quietly, sitting back and looking at the charcoal picture before her. A part of her hated the fact that she only had her pencils. The man needed color. Her acrylics would have done far more in terms of being able to capture just a little bit more of his arguable demi-god state of being. She could have at least attempted to grasp just a little more of the man’s grand presence.  
  
Yet, much like the man himself, she had an impossible time truly capturing his nature.  
  
A sigh escaped her as she grabbed her martini. The drink went down as well as one would expect. The sweet drink did little to mask the taste of the liquor that Tamamo had bought her. Thankfully, her companion for the evening had wandered out, getting a call from her boss about inventory for the restaurant she worked in.  
  
It had left her to enjoy the bar alone.  
  
She set the sketchpad down in front of her, sighing as the band struck up another song. The low sound of the bass and the piano did little to lighten the mood.  
  
Such a beautiful man.  
  
Such an unfairly beautiful man.  
  
Her mind was revolving around the thought.  
  
Perhaps she spent too much time with the girls. Nero and Tamamo and Bathory… They all seemed to enjoy filling her mind with imagery and the splendor of spoils. They romanticized people, glorified emotion, filled the world with such colors and imagination that she had found herself indulging in the whole thing with them. She had leaped forth into a world spiraling in the madness of love and isolation. Of pain and glory.  
  
Closing her eyes, she could almost see Nero laughing at her for drawing a stranger instead of one of them. The blonde would hold her hands on her hips and declare that they would go out to dinner or to somewhere nice. She would demand flowers and romance and affections.  
  
Which was not bad, but…  
  
Her eyes drifted back to the sketch, to her art.  
  
Maybe she had drawn him because he had seemed so much like herself. In the wrong place at the right time. Enjoying the ambiance, but waiting until it would be suitable to return from whence he came. Maybe he also was looking forward to the moment where he could escape his formal attire, opting for something more comfortable and the comforts of bed.  
  
“What is this?”  
  
Hakuno paused as she heard the voice behind her.  
  
Soft.  
  
Domineering.  
  
The kind of voice that one would expect to have send a chill down their spine or jump a foot in the air upon hearing.  
  
Her eyes drifted back, hair falling over her shoulders a bit as she found the blond on her end of the lounge area. That chest and golden necklace came closer as he reached for the sketchpad.  
  
He pulled it into hand, settling at her side with his wineglass in hand.  
  
“So this is what had your attention on me this evening.”  
  
“It’s nothing more than a sketch,” she murmured, looking away. “I didn’t mean to stare.”  
  
Those eyes, a deep carmine color that drowned her like the finest of wines, met her own. Those lashes framed them to perfection, adding to the fierceness of his features.  
  
“Is it not the point of an artist to stare at their subjects?”  
  
“It’s not normally my habit to draw strangers.”  
  
“It’s not bad.” The man looked over the image again. “The words I don’t quite get.”  
  
“They’re just observations. I wouldn’t think much of them if I were you.” She moved to take the pad back from him, but he held it away, looking it over again. Those dangerous eyes looked over at her again, those lips turning upwards into the slightest of smirks.  
  
“And what makes you think that I am lonely, woman?”  
  
Hakuno let out a soft sigh, closing her eyes.  
  
Poor personality.  
  
As pretty as the man was, and he was unfairly pleasing to the eyes, something was telling her that his personality was about as beautiful as dirt.  
  
“Well?”  
  
“It’s your expression.” She opened her eyes, looking up at him. “You have nothing less than sadness in your eyes, like you’ve lost something important and now the world is boring. You don’t look like you enjoy anything anymore.”  
  
He froze, allowing her the opportunity to steal back her art from the man’s thieving hands. She closed the pad once more, finishing the last of her martini and pushing her pencils into their tin case. Her craft materials were returned to their bag.  
  
“Goodnight.”  
  
“Stay for a while.”  
  
His hand grabbed her before she could escape, keeping her in place.  
  
Hakuno shook her head. “I’ve been here long enough.”  
  
“Just another drink. The band is average, but the night is young. Enjoy it a little longer. I want to see more of what you’ve been working on.”  
  
There was no doubt that if she stayed, she would be walking into dangerous territory. Nothing good would come from staying next to this man. Nothing good could come from showing this man her work. She had a bad habit of bringing home strays. Whether it was a beautiful woman in a restaurant, Tamamo. Or a woman disappointed as she sipped her coffee in a coffee shop, Bathory. Or perhaps the chef in a small corner diner, annoyed with the way his life was turning out, Emiya.  
  
Thankfully, she had always been able to turn down anyone that tried to get too close.  
  
Never had she gone against her gut on things like this.  
  
And the more beautiful the person was, the better she had been at saying no.  
  
“One more drink,” she found herself saying, settling at his side. The man’s hand had raised for one of the passing waiters, ordering her another martini and himself something stronger. She found his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in a little closer to himself.  
  
Those carmine eyes drank her in, indulging in her every detail. As bad as she had been about staring him down, memorizing him for the purposes of immortalizing him on page and in charcoal, the man seemed to do the same to her. Although it was not for the purposes of art.  
  
The warm feeling of the liquor burned a hole through her hesitation.  
  
His heated body at her side, amongst the chilled room and its dark ambiance, encouraged her to nestle closer to him.  
  
And he spoke to her of her work, having her return her sketchpad to the table for him to peruse through. His fingers traced over the lines, admiring the balance of darkness and light. Her voice murmured things, both good and bad, that inspired her mind just a little bit further.  
  
This man, whoever he was, seemed to have a taste for the refined.  
  
Unlike her, he seemed to take such pleasure in it. He loved it. Breathed it even.  
  
Such a strange thing to imagine, taking such pleasure in art and in the looks of all things. Where she had always found herself more involved in the layers beneath the surface, this man seemed to enjoy the best of both worlds.  
  
Truly unfair.  
  
His face was close to hers though.  
  
She could see those eyes drifting lower, locking on her lips.  
  
His lips pressed against her own, indulging in her now. She could taste the bitterness of the port from his wineglass. She could feel his tongue stroking along her lips, asking permission to advance further.  
  
Naturally, she found herself consenting.  
  
Her arms wrapped around his body, pulling him in just a little bit closer. Her body moved onto his lap in the dark room. His hands moved along the black dress she had on, to the zipper that ran down her back.  
  
“We should go elsewhere for this,” he murmured.  
  
“Your friends,” she breathed.  
  
“They are acquaintances. They will find their own way home, as was the original plan. I was here to simply stop being bored. And then who would I find but my own personal artist.” His eyes were gleaming, like garnets as he looked up at her. Her hands ran along that jaw, cupping his face in her hands.  
  
“Where should we go?”  
  
The smile she found blooming across his features would have sent a lesser woman running. They would have sensed the danger in that look, the promise of a long and activity filled evening.  
  
But she leaned in closer, returning that sinister smile with a defiant look of her own.  
  
“I don’t sleep with anyone.”  
  
“Come to my place,” he purred, words like liquid gold.  
  
“Pose for me.”  
  
“Asking a vain man like myself to pose for your art…” He turned his head away, but those eyes were drawn right back to her. That smile bloomed a bit more for her as those eyes. Oh- but those eyes seemed to dance as he looked at her. “You ask for trouble, woman.”  
  
She did.  
  
Her arms wrapped around his as they escaped the bar. Her lips pressed to his neck as he drove them through the streets. As they made it to the garage of his building, his arms wrapped around her, pulling her up into his arms.  
  
His shirt was torn open. Her dress was unzipped in one fell swoop.  
  
His lips burned a path along her neck.  
  
Her hands buried themselves into his hair.  
  
The bag with her supplies was dumped on the entry table. His keys and jacket were tossed to the wayside as he locked the door and stalked forward.  
  
Their hands didn’t seem to be able to touch enough. Her legs wrapped around his waist. Her bra drifted onto a plant in the hallway.  
  
She pushed him as they entered the darkness of his room, making him collapse onto his own bed. Her lips moved down his chest, burning a path further and further along that body she had spent the evening admiring.  
  
No, the outfit he had worn had done nothing to present him properly. It had not done him justice.  
  
The man rolled them over, spreading her legs and moving his face lower.  
  
Gleaming red eyes, darkened by the room, looked at her a moment before she felt him with every nerve in her body. She became alive, electric at his touch. There was suddenly a world of feeling. She couldn’t feel enough. She was feeling too much.  
  
Her hands sank into that golden hair, softer than down. Silkier than the finest of fabrics.  
  
She moved against him with abandon, trying desperately to find sanity in his arms. She longed to be able to drive him to madness. Then, she felt him inside. Her body tightened around him, welcoming him in with only the slightest of pain.  
  
Her body moved, eyes rolling back a little at the feeling.  
  
“Gods, woman.” Golden Hair breathed the words, lips finding her own again. She laughed at him, unable to help herself. Her body moved again, getting them upright.  
  
The confidence was from the liquor.  
  
Her hands shoved him back, grabbing one of his legs as it was bent beside her. She turned herself, beginning to move against him.  
  
Those eyes were ablaze, watching her steal her own pleasure from him.  
  
Unparalleled pleasure.  
  
There had been nothing like this before. Alive and mysterious, it felt like she could do anything. The world yesterday and the world tomorrow didn’t matter. Nothing mattered in this moment. She could do anything and she could steal the world with no consequence.  
  
“My vixen,” the epitome of perfection called to her. “You’re driving me insane.”  
  
She leaned against his knee, watching him as she twisted and moved her body against him. Her hips rolled, welcoming him in more.  
  
“Woman-“  
  
“I’ve never done this before.”  
  
He rolled them over, stopping her as he nearly pulled himself out. She found herself pinned to the furs beneath herself. His face pressed to hers. She felt him moving, taking over their play.  
  
“Tell me you want more.”  
  
“Give me more.”  
  
“Beg for the pleasure.”  
  
“I’ve never felt like this before,” she breathed, watching those eyes stare at her in wonder.  
  
“Again.”  
  
She pushed her hips to meet him, taking him as much as she could. The sound that escaped her was loud, encouraging. She wasn’t going to turn this down. Not tonight. In the morning, she could disappear into the nothingness of his life. She would be a one night event. A woman of mystery and intrigue. Much like the characters in her friend Hans’ stories.  
  
“Tell me your mine,” he breathed.  
  
“I’m yours,” she murmured to him.  
  
Those eyes. She was becoming heavily addicted to the look of them, the way the emotions flickered across them. She could see the world from his view in them. Whatever had bothered him, whatever had made him lose the zest that life had held before; it hadn’t made it to the bedroom with him.  
  
Here, with her, he had become alive.  
  
Her arms embraced him more as his lips stole her breath away once more.  
  
Over and over he moved against her. Bringing himself to a point that she gladly lost herself passed. Her world turned to white, the pleasure taking over. It sank into her body, sending her into a state of pure bliss. There was nothing like this place, this room, this man before her.  
  
His fingers locked with hers as he lost that last bit of sanity, drinking in the last intoxication of the night.  
  
That toned body of his fell to the sheets beside her, pulling her in so that she could drape herself upon him. Her lips moved across that chest, following the red tattoos etched upon his skin.  
  
Those lips pressed to her forehead.  
  
“Gilgamesh… My name is Gilgamesh…” He closed his eyes, smiling a little. “I didn’t get the opportunity to tell you sooner, my little artist.”  
  
She fit in his arms.  
  
For whatever reason, her body fit against his like a glove. The feeling of his skin against hers, his arms holding her protectively to his person…  
  
“My name is Hakuno,” she found herself telling him.  
  
Gilgamesh’s lips pressed to her shoulder. His smile could be felt rather than seen.  
  
“Welcome to my home, Hakuno.”  
  
She nodded, closing her eyes to the beautiful man and drifting off to sleep.  
  
The repetitive colors of red and gold adorned her dreams. Her mind spun tales of grand thrones and arrogant kings until a great light burned against her closed eyes.  
  
Groggily, Hakuno moved to cover her face, turning away so she could check her alarm clock. She must have slept in. Uncommon, but acceptable. She didn’t have work that she needed to be at. Her gallery showcase was in the evening. No one would worry about seeing her until a few hours before then. Even then, she’d probably just wear the black dress she had gone out in the night…  
  
Her eyes flew open as she heard the sound of water stop.  
  
When it had started, she’d never know.  
  
Her eyes strayed to the doorway, finding the golden-haired demi-god of a man stepping into the bedroom and casting a look in her direction.  
  
A smirk came to his face, his body leaning against the doorway, presenting his manhood and body in its full glory.  
  
“Good morning, my little artist.”  
  
“Morning. What time is it?”  
  
Her body felt sore, most likely from-  
  
No, she wasn’t going to think about that.  
  
“It’s ten. You slept in quite a bit with me. Then again, we were up late.” He moved forward and climbed onto the bed, his hand moving behind her head, tangling in her hair as he pulled her close and kissed her.  
  
“I have an art gallery tonight,” Hakuno warned him.  
  
“Excellent.” He pulled back, that smile more troublesome than before. “Then I don’t need to ask when we should meet again. An artist needs to keep their muse close after all.”


End file.
